Wishes
by canibecandid
Summary: After all that she'd done for him, nothing had changed since that day. He was still cruel, still hurtful, and still painfully Sherlock. Turning her eyes back to the dark sky above her, Molly pretends that she's still in her pastoral village, her father droning in the background about the constellations overhead, and a cup of coco in her hand.


"You can never see anything up here." Molly muttered, her breath coming out as a fog in the chilly air as she squinted at the sky above her. She wasn't sure what she expected to see up on the rooftop of St. Bart's. London had far too many lights and planes flying overhead for her to actually see anything. Still, she squints as dark clouds roll by and pretends that the airplanes are actually stars.

She shivers at the cool breeze as drifts through the layers of her coat as she looks over the edge of the building to the busy streets below. Molly swears that if she turns her head to the right angle, she could see a darker spot on the concrete made 3 years ago. No one notices her looming above the crowds and she skins to the ground and leans against the ledge of the building.

After all that she'd done for him, nothing had changed since that day. He was still cruel, still hurtful, and still painfully Sherlock. Turning her eyes back to the dark sky above her, Molly pretends that she's still in her pastoral village, her father droning in the background about the constellations overhead, and a cup of coco in her hand. But the shrill sound of a car horn shattered her illusion and she reopened her eyes to night sky. A blinking light over head glimmered and she closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that it could possibly a star.

And she wishes, something she hasn't done in a very long time, that he'd be kind. Gentle, even. Just once, that's all she was asking for. For just one moment of kindness from the likes of Sherlock Holmes. And as she opens her eyes, she swears that she sees the light flash by her like a shooting star and it makes her ache a little less than before.

* * *

When it came to Molly Hooper, Sherlock did not often need John's "Not good" buzzing about. It was perfectly clear when she would recoil away from him as if he'd stuck a red hot poker to her skin. Sometimes he would have to admit that he wasn't entirely sure what he had done wrong, but that he had indeed provoked something.

Oh yes, he could write it off, and had many times, but there was always a certain nagging about Molly. She never asked for anything and was more tolerable than most other humans he knew.

She was quiet today, which would normally be a reprieve from her normal stumblings, but there was something behind it that set him on guard. She hadn't said a word when she handed him coffee that he hadn't asked for, but he always drank it because it was like a soother for their tumultuous moods together. [Alright, fine, his moods that he made her suffer through.]

After his staged death, Sherlock had made her safety his number one priority, after staying alive of course. Had gone through the obscene amount of paper work Mycroft had insisted was necessary in order to insure her safety. Though he did not feel the need to change his behavior to her, he was rather astounded at the tenderness he felt for the woman working next to him.

He knew that she hadn't been seeing anyone recently, nor had she been upset that by anything done outside of work. Had to have been here at Bart's. Molly had been fine when he and John had left after receiving sample results from the lab late last night, so it was safe to assume that it happened after they left.

"What happened last night?" He asked, adjusting his lens. From the corner of his eye, Molly tensed and gripped her pen tighter. No, it wouldn't do to have his pathologist all riled up.

"N-nothing. Went up to the roof for a bit a-and I went home." Molly said carefully as if expecting his backlash.

"Roof? Of Bart's? Why would you go th-" He turns a confused expression to her and he notes she looks almost ill. "Sentiment." He finishes quietly and Molly ducks her head in embarrassment. "Y-you know, I never did thank you for what you did for me." The phrase doesn't feel forced even though he hates giving praise to almost any one person. "I never did anything to ever earn that type of loyalty from you."

Molly smiles in the quiet way that she does that both intrigues and makes him irate. "T-that's okay. You didn't need too. You help people and that's enough for me." Her heart flutters and she can hardly believe the words that he is saying to her.

"No, Molly. It is not nearly enough." He says it while watching her blush under his gaze. There are not nearly enough numbers to encompass the wrongs he had done to her. "I do not express gratitude often, and I am even more inclined to say the wrong things. But I find myself in an unfamiliar position of regret at not expressing it sooner." He pauses for a moment longer. "Would you like to have coffee?"

Her lips quiver as she fights back at a joke he knows will be horrid, but he will laugh anyway. "Entirely too much creamer and three sugars. I'll be here."

It is not what he expects and he doesn't stop the chuckle as it clicks into place where he's heard something similar. But the utter look of surprise on Molly's face as he gets up to fetch the coffee anyway is worth the momentary pause in his experiment.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper."


End file.
